A reflection or two. General Forrest, in fighting this battle at his own discretion, had shown that he very well knew just when a commander, acting on the defensive-active, should fall upon an invading army. He had, not for the first time, particularly emphasized the fact that Southern cavalrymen, dismounted and well handled, could cope with trained infantry, and even put them to rout when fighting at odds of two to one against themselves. On this eventful day he had put into practice his favorite tactics, which had uniformly brought him success, that of launching his entire command, as soon as he could get it into action, against his adversary. Forrest’s Cavalry never looked around for reserves, but confidently expected to do the work themselves and to do it quickly. Hence, at Brice’s Cross Roads they fought with the intrepidity of veteran infantry and exhibited the dash of the best type of Southern cavalry. In other words, they fought when Forrest said so, and every charge was like the first one in which they expected to break the lines of the enemy. The man behind the gun was in evidence at Tishomingo, and it was a glorious victory. May his tribe increase.
A consideration of the comparative forces is interesting. According to information, which is fairly authentic, Forrest had 3,200 men, including two four-gun batteries. Federal official report gives them 3,300 cavalry and 5,400 infantry, or 8,700 men. In addition, they had, according to the best information, 24 pieces of artillery and men to man them. Notice the respective losses. Forrest lost about 140 officers and men killed, and about 500 wounded and none taken prisoners. Sturgis lost, according to official report, 23 officers and 594 men killed and 52 officers and 1,571 men captured, or a total of 2,240 men. Forrest says he captured 1,571 men and 52 officers, an ordnance train with a large supply of fixed ammunition, ten days’ rations for the whole Federal army, over two hundred wagons and parts of their teams, and large quantities of supplies, thirty ambulances and twenty-one caissons. Clearly then, we fought them at an odds of nearly three to one in their favor.
Now, a few incidents of the battle. When riding to the battle-field that morning, and at a place where we were passing over a rough causeway on which many a horse cast a shoe, Isaac H. Pipkin (Doc.), riding by my side, remarked that if he should be killed that day, all he asked was to be put away decently. He was in the first charge, through the muddy cornfield. Imagine my feelings, when driven back in one of the repulses, I came upon his body still in death. Doc was a typical rustic, a good fellow in camp, a true soldier in action, a man you might lean on. The people of Bolivar have long ago graven his name in marble. Tom Boucher was a plain and unassuming citizen of the Whiteville neighborhood, who was always at his post, took life easy and never fretted. He died on the field.
In the first charge, I noticed William C. Hardy, of Bolivar, handling his gun as if something was the matter with the lock. I never saw him again, for he never got to the second fence. Billy was a pupil of mine, a fiery young fellow and a perfectly reliable soldier.
Another schoolboy of mine who fell in this first charge was Charles R. Neely of Bolivar. He was a boy of gentle birth and noble instincts. He was a loving friend, a soldier tried and true, who poured out his young life’s blood upon the field. Could higher eulogy be spoken?
In connection with young Neely’s death I mention the faithful conduct of James F. Dunlap, his mess mate and true friend. As soon as practicable Dunlap placed the corpse of his young friend in their small mess wagon and carrying it through the country delivered it to his mother in Bolivar, Tenn. This was an exhibition of fidelity hard to surpass.
Suffering from an old wound, Captain Tate, early in the action turned over the command of the company to Lieutenant J. P. Satler, with whom I had already agreed to remain through whatever might come to us that day. Thank heaven, we both came through unscathed.
Do you remember where I left off the main narrative? It was at Tishomingo creek where we had halted to partake of the bountiful refreshments, which the Federals had rather unwillingly left in our hands. When the horse-holders brought forward our mounts, my little black seemed as glad to see me as I was to see him. I stripped him for a rubbing and a rest and gorged him on Federal forage.
Instead of an undisturbed night of repose, as we had fondly hoped for, the Seventh Tennessee was aroused from its slumbers at 2 o’clock in the morning with the information that Forrest himself was to lead it in pursuit of the enemy. With Company E in front I, happening to be in the front file, could very well see everything that was likely to come up on this memorable advance. Much of our way was lighted up by wagons and other abandoned property burning. In one place the forewheel of a gun carriage had been locked by a tree and this and several other handsome brass pieces in its rear had been abandoned. Many Federal soldiers, now thoroughly exhausted, were sleeping by the roadside, while others, armed and unarmed, willingly surrendered. They were invariably told to go to the rear. Further along, I counted ninety-five wagons laden with supplies strung along the narrow road. The wheels of some had been locked by trees and evidently abandoned in hot haste by those who had ridden the teams away. I saw much of General Forrest that night, who was in great good humor in regard to the results of the previous day’s battle. When approaching Ripley, early in the day, which town is about twenty miles from the battle-field, we were relieved by other troops going forward to press the enemy, who were making a stand just north of the town. Buford and Bell were there, and we knew what that meant.
We rode leisurely through the town and to the outskirts. A battle was going on, but the enemy was believed to be retreating. The command to form fours and prepare to charge was given. Company E, in front was soon going at a lively pace and it soon became a question of speed as to who should reach the enemy first. My little black horse responded in fine style. At a flying gallop we went straight up the road and, though hearing guns on every hand, could see no enemy to charge. Instantly we saw in the woods to our left a whole regiment of Federal cavalry aiming to reach the road at an angle and speed that would throw them into it just ahead of us. Over the hill they went as fast as their horses would carry them. Tom Nelson of Company L, coming up, he and I found ourselves in uncomfortable proximity to the enemy, for as we too went over the hill, there they were with their rear huddled together in the valley, with something apparently blocking their front. Nelson and I had not intended to fight a whole regiment, but we shot out everything we had at them. Pressing towards the front and turning in their saddles, as they went up the hill, they gave us a few shots from their carbines which, I remember well, they held in one hand. At a cooler moment, I inquired with some interest how it was that such a thing as I have related could happen. No one attempted an explanation. Nelson and I were present in the flesh and had occasion to remember well all that took place, though events were passing with lightning celerity. Perhaps, perchance and maybe, it was a case of horseflesh. It was the Third Iowa Cavalry we were charging. Colonel C. A. Stanton, not so very long ago a citizen of Memphis, was an officer in this regiment and has a clear recollection of the incident. I was somewhat surprised a few years ago when Billy Elkins, a member of Company E, reminded me of the occasion and rehearsed what took place about as I remember it myself.